December Angel
by SeaWolf7
Summary: [My contribution to the Destiel Advent Calendar over on Tumblr.] AU - Dean hated Christmas, for so many reasons. A loner by nature, he was just looking forward to his crappy job, and spending the holiday season alone. But running into a scruffy angel might change all of that.


The first time they meet, it wasn't their first time seeing one another.

Dean walked past the alleyway almost every day after work, it being situated between his place of employment and, well, good coffee. After a long, boring day in the wonderful world of retail sales, he'd walk to the next block to the tiny coffee shop nestled between a bookstore and what seemed like a tanning salon. Every day after his shift, he'd trek up for a cup of lukewarm coffee. He'd considered time and time again just replacing his old, beaten maker, but usually concluded he'd never make it half as good.

There was a bench in front of the coffee shop window; a simple style painted in a warm brown. Dean walked by this bench every day to walk into the shop, and on his way out. People sat outside the shop every day, though he never strictly noticed anyone except…

There was one man, who sat on the edge of the bench everyday he visited, swathed in a black blanket. But usually, by the time he left, the man was gone.

The first time they actually meet was in the beginning cusp of December, with the onslaught of the Winter Holidays and Christmas breathing down Dean's neck. He'd never been overly fond of Christmas before Everything Happened, and especially now he still was not overly fond of the commercialized holiday promoting time together with family, yet they had no problem throwing tacky decorations and brain-jarring music at your senses mid-October, when Halloween decorations were smashed into a two-foot-square box.

Let it be known, Dean hated working in retail. Down to his very core.

It was one of these days—when Dean's hatred of the holiday was running high and his nerves were threadbare—that as he left the coffee shop, hands fastened tight around the cup, he ran into what felt like a brick wall. His body curled inward as to brace for an impact that would never come. An arm circled his waist, as did what had felt like a gritty blanket cover his shoulders, bracketing in his body against a solid form.

"Forgive me, sir. Are you alright?"

The voice was low and dusky, as if it were not used often. He blinked, glancing up at the man who had caught him. Dark hair was mussed in every which way, hanging over a set of blue eyes. His face was covered with thick facial hair that looked too soft to be legitimate. His clothes—what used to be what he might guess was a white button up shirt and slacks, and a tan trench coat thrown over the ensemble—were tattered in places, worn thin by time and use, the colors dulled by grime and dirt. Finally, he noticed the large black appendage folded neatly against his back, the other of the pair currently holding him close. Wings; charcoal black, covered in grit and dirt.

The man was, in fact, an angel.

"I'm fine." He pulled back from the warmth the angel sparked inside, until the wing draped around his shoulders slid off like liquid, brushing the unforgiving concrete before tucking close to his back. "Thanks for the catch, I guess."

Last thing he wanted was to land on his face…

"It was my fault in which caused you to stumble." His voice was nearly deadpan, but he swore he heard a glimpse of actual sincerity in his voice.

… Yeah, _right._

"It was only right of me to catch you."

"Yeah, whatever, man. Don't make it out as that big of a deal." Shrugging, Dean stared down at his To-Go cup for a moment, before sighing and holding out the warm cup. "Here."

The angel blinked owlishly, glancing down at the cup suddenly thrusted into his space. "What is it?"

"Nectar of heaven, feathers; coffee. For catching my ass. You want it or not?"

"But I was the one who ran into you." The angel reminded him gently, looking wary of the situation. His gaze kept flickering between the cup, and back up at him.

"Yeah, well," His arms started to retract, beginning to pull the cup back towards himself. "you didn't have to catch me. But if you don't want it…"

Two warm, dry hands curled over his, making him pause. "I did not intend—" He paused, shook his head to himself, before a small smile fringed on his face. "Thank you."

Dean nodded, slowly slipping his hands from underneath the angel's own, and ignored how he almost missed their warmth. The angel sheltered the styrofoam cup up against his chest, fingers curling around it as to soak up its meager warmth. He looked for the world like Dean had given him a million dollars. "Thank you." He reiterated, glancing back at the human. The smile on the angel's face made his cold heart flutter slightly, and definitely made up for the strangeness of him cradling the cup to his chest like a newborn, or repeatedly thanking him for a simple cup of coffee. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have the angel smile like that, all the time.

Whoa, wait.

_Where had that come from..?_

"Listen, buddy, you enjoy that, but not too much, got it?" Dean forced a grin, patting the angel on the shoulder. "I'll see you around."

He left quickly, trying not to over-analyze the look of total awe that had enveloped the strange angel over a cup of mud. Refused to think of how a fleeting moment in his embrace had almost been nice. Would not allow the regret to form at not catching his name.

.-/|\-.

The following day, a bitter wind nipped at Dean's heels as he made his way from the shop towards the small coffee house. He tucked his scarf tighter around his neck, trying to hide in the wool warmth. Winter seemed eager to meet the start December, and forecasts were expecting some serious snow within the next few days. It hadn't put him in the best of moods, but his strange encounter the day before helped delay his daily Christmas angst.

Seeing the familiar form of the angel sitting outside the coffee shop almost made him smile. Which it shouldn't; he didn't know the guy. He could be a serial killer for all he knew.

Their gazes met as Dean walked by, nodding slightly in greeting. One of his wings was raised, creating a shield against the wind. That was it; their collision yesterday was a one-off event. They would never speak to one another again.

He paused, hands against the cold metal of the push bar attached to the door of the shop. "Wait here." He didn't even know if the angel heard him, or would do as he asked/hoped. All he knew was he resolutely would not look at the shop window to see if the angel had left as he ordered a double of his usual order.

They were strangers. He doesn't know you. He'll leave; he's going to be gone…

He carried both cups towards the door, and tried to not be too surprised to see the trench coat-clothed angel still perched on the bench where he last saw him.

"You're still here." Dean remarked, trying to keep his tone casual. The man smiled, pulling his wing in to make room for the other man. He offered the spare cup to the winged creature, resolutely staring at his cup.

"You did ask of me to remain here." He took the cup, a smile still gracing his face. "Thank you."

That struck him somewhere deep inside; in a way he did not want to dwell on too long. "You didn't have to, though."

"As you did not have to buy an extra cup of coffee?"

Dean frowned. "She screwed up my order, and accidentally made two."

"Of course." The angel sipped at his beverage, eyes shining in a way that told Dean his lie was not believed, yet he was amused by the ruse. For some reason, Dean couldn't seem to find it in himself to care.

"My name's Dean. Dean Winchester." He offered.

"Castiel." A sharp wind suddenly cut through them both, making the pair grimace and duck towards one another. A large ebony wing outstretched itself, trying to shield them against the chill.

"_Fuck_, I hate winter." The human groused, ducking further overtop his cup to savor the heat of the steam.

"Oh?" Castiel took a sip of his coffee, making a small noise of appraisal. Dean took a small note of pride.

He hummed in agreeance, glancing over at his company. Castiel looked paler today, a fine shiver running through his frame every now and again. It practically shook his body with the next dry gust that rolled in.

"I think I'm gonna head home." Draining the cup, Dean threw it away in the trashcan next to the bench. "You ought to get home soon, too. You'll freeze out here."

The angel smiled, though it was unlike his other ones. This one wasn't as genuinely happy, and seemed to flag on an almost sadder tone. "I will, soon."

"Seriously, man." He fixed the angel with a level look. "Don't freeze out here. A cup of mud isn't worth it."

Confusion swamped his features, as the angel peered into the cup. "I thought this was coffee…"

With a shake of his head, Dean stood up. Castiel's wings curled closer to him by instinct, to shield out the cold and to try and keep his body heat in. Without so much as any preamble, he unwound the soft blue scarf from around his neck and found himself winding it loosely around the shivering, stunned angel's neck.

"Keep warm. See you around, Castiel."

He left before he could figure out if the redness of his cheeks was from the biting wind or feeling just how soft the scruff on his neck actually was as it brushed against his knuckles.

.-/|\-.

The next day, Dean was hesitant to go to the coffee shop. The promised snow had finally rolled in some time during the night, and hadn't stopped all day. There were piles of snow along the sidewalk, and promised for a very cold trek for coffee he wasn't sure would be worth it. The company that might be there, however…

Something had been bugging him about Castiel since they had parted. He had seemed sad when he'd offered Cas ought to go home soon. It was just friendly (if obvious) advice. With the storm that had rolled in, the temperature had plunged even further.

He decided to take a chance, gathering his coat tight around his collar to protect his neck from the unforgiving wind and headed off towards the coffee house. However, halfway there, something out of the corner of his eye gave him pause. The alleyway was deep, smatterings of white snow clinging to the objects that lay within. What caught his eye was a piece of cloth that fluttered against the ground between two trash cans; tattered, dirty, tan…

A weight settled in his stomach as he took a cautioned step closer through untouched snow. The tan fabric was bundled up around a person, two large, dirty black wings cocooning most of his body in a wind-and-snow shield, covered by a good dusting of snow.

Dammit, why hadn't he realized sooner?

Kneeling down, Dean swept the snow off his wings. "Cas? You okay in there?" Please, let him be. Please…

His large wings slowly peeled back, sending snow cascading down his feathers. Castiel blinked slowly at Dean, his skin a chilly pale color, lips tinged an off-shade of blue. "Dean..?" Cas' voice was rougher, weaker.

"I thought I told you to go home, buddy. You're freezing."

A slow, sad smile spread on his face, as his eyes slipped shut. His wings closing back around him. "Go home, Dean."

Gritting his teeth, Dean swatted the wings back open. "Look at me." Those deep blue eyes peeked at him, but seemed to lack the energy to keep open. Dammit, dammit, dammit. "C'mon, Cas. Up and at 'em." He grabbed the angel under his armpits, hauling him up to his feet. It was appalling at just how little Castiel actually weighed.

"Dean?" He was confused, grabbing onto the human's arms until he steadied himself. "What are you doing?"

"Taking you home, feathers. I'm not gonna let you freeze to death."

.-/|\-.

They forewent the coffee, as Dean ushered the shivering angel back to his home. The heat of the small house welcomed them graciously, enveloping them as soon as they passed over the threshold. Shaking the snow free, Dean stripped off his coat and hung it over the back of a chair. Castiel watched from his spot by the door, snow slowly melting and dripping over his wings and coat.

"Make yourself at home." Dean called as he ventured to the small kitchen, planning on rummaging around in hopes of finding instant coffee, tea, something to warm his guest up with.

What he found was an old box of hot chocolate mix, and hoped it would suffice. Withdrawing two mugs from the cabinet, he began to warm up two cups of water in the microwave before peeking out at the angel.

Castiel was looking around the room, still enrobed in the dirty trench coat. It looked as though he still hadn't moved.

"Hey, Cas," He called from the doorway, waiting until the angel looked his way. "You want to use my shower? Not to be rude, man, but, uh, you look like you need one."

The angel stared almost blankly at him, and for a moment Dean wondered if he understood. Or, perhaps, offended him. "Why are you helping me, Dean?"

Dean's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "What?"

The angel sighed, "I do not wish to look a 'gift equine' in the mouth, but what do you wish to gain from helping me?" The air quotes he hooked with his fingers almost made him smile.

Equine? "It's 'gift horse', Cas. No one says equine." Shrugging, he pressed his shoulder into the threshold. "I don't _'wish to gain'_ anything. I didn't want you to freeze to a dumpster." His tone flagged on irritation, as he turned back to address the microwave as it chimed. "I don't expect anything from you. You aren't my captive or any weird shit like that. I'm just offering you a warm shower, and a place to crash."

Mixing in the powdered chocolate, Dean shrugged and called over his shoulder. "You have every right to leave right now, if you want. I ain't going to stop you."

He didn't hear Castiel move from his spot by the door, but when he next spoke he was closer, his tone softer, almost apologetic. "Where did you say that shower was…?"

Dean smiled to himself, tucking it away before handing Castiel his hot chocolate.

.-/|\-.

The shower echoed loudly through the small home, and made the only human inside slightly nervous. He'd shown Castiel the shower, how it worked, and found a pair of sweats and a shirt he didn't mind that got destroyed (two holes had to be cut for the wings, after all). Now all he could do was fidget with dinner until his guest would join him.

He hadn't known what he was thinking, really. This was a complete stranger; an angel at that. His mind tried to rationalize his stupidity; Cas could be a serial killer for all he knew. But there was an inherent kindness about the way he carried himself, about how he spoke. And he couldn't very well let him freeze to death out in an alleyway.

In the depths of his thoughts, and making enough sandwiches to make a small tower, he never heard the shower shut off.

"That shower was very enjoyable."

Dean jumped, knee banging against the cabinet as he turned to level a look at the angel hovering over his shoulder and had to pause. Clean, shaven, and skin holding a healthy warmth to it, Castiel looked like a new man – err, angel. His clothes were a bit baggy on him, making him look scrawnier than ever. But the neutral colors made his own shine. His wings definitely benefitted from the cleansing—a deeper black that shined under the light, looking like living silk as they fluttered and shifted against his shoulders –

"Dean?"

"Mm?"

"Why are you staring at –?"

"Eat a sandwich, Cas. You're too thin. You might blow away if you try to fly."

The angel just smiled, and helped himself.

The sleeping arrangements that night, however, were a bit trickier. The couch didn't pull out, and Dean had some form of manners that he didn't want his winged guest to sleep on the tiny, lumpy couch. So he bugged Castiel relentlessly until he finally gave in, and Dean felt a small node of pride at the selfless act. Finally managing to fall asleep on the lumpy couch after an hour and a half of tossing and turning and shivering, however, almost made him rethink his efforts.

He woke some time later, warmer and more relaxed than he ought to be. A warm, silky black blanket was covering his body, tapering up to a body curled beneath the comforter stolen from the top of his bed. Castiel's head was curled next to his, messy dark locks fringed at his own hair.

For some reason, having him so close still had yet to put a bad feeling within him.

"Cas..?" Gently, he reached over; tapping Castiel's shaved cheek and was almost amused at the gentle scratching of regrowth.

Blue eyes flickered slightly, as the angel gave a sleepy groan.

"Cas, buddy, why're you out here? Bed's back there."

The angel yawned, before cuddling up further into the side of the couch. "You were cold, and uncomfortable…"

The human blinked, floored at the simple, selfless gesture and unable to process it fully while still half-asleep. He prodded Castiel awake once more, smiling at the angry bear-angel until Castiel lay down against the carpet. Covering the angel with both his blanket and the comforter, he took a split decision before crawling underneath the blankets to join him.

A silky black wing unfurled from his back, curling around Dean and tucking him in closer by instinct. Dean sighed to himself, letting the warmth of the other seep into his system and lull him off to sleep.

It was the best night's sleep either man nor angel had in a long time, wrapped up in one another.

.-/|\-.

Dean lived up to himself, sleeping the following night in his bed. With the addition of Castiel joining him, curled around the human like he couldn't get enough of his body warmth. It was nice, learning to share a bed again, with no expectations of sex. Although Dean would deny to his final days that he enjoyed cuddling with the angel, he did like the feeling of being enveloped in downy charcoal feathers.

They grew accustomed to one another slowly, as the month grew on. Dean liked living with someone again, of having more than an empty house waiting for his end of shift. He still popped into the coffee shop to grab two coffees, waiting until he arrived home to drink his with Castiel. He'd bought clothes for the angel, as his others had the misfortune of being unsalvageable (although, he kept the dirty trench coat, for who knows what reason).

They had met together up at the coffee house only once, to get an order and actually sit inside to drink it. That is, until Castiel had taken it upon himself to fix Dean's coffee maker, making the first cup of coffee exactly how Dean drank his.

It was the best cup of coffee Dean had had in his life.

Castiel had grown more accustomed to living under a roof once more. Bathing had become a ritual instead of routine, as the angel had taken a shine to taking long baths. Cooking had been a fond discovery for both himself and Dean. He finally allowed himself to believe the other shoe wouldn't drop, going so far as to actually asking Dean for short bits of cash, for 'personal expenses'.

Dean hadn't asked, just handed over the money simply.

As the days stretched into a few short weeks, they learned how to trust one another. Castiel taking walks and sometimes short flights in the evenings did not mean he would never return to Dean's home. When Dean sometimes returned to the house in a foul mood, he learned it was not his fault, and anything unjustly said would be amended after Dean kicked around tools in the garage while working on the Chevrolet on blocks. Falling into a domestic routine became easier, and had happened well before either had noticed, or cared.

Everything changed on Christmas Eve.

He was exhausted; the shop had been running him ragged lately, even sticking him on Christmas Eve. But the pay would be decent, and help make up for the long hours as a clerk slave. Cas had tried to talk him out of the job; certainly there had to be others he enjoyed more? But a job was a job, and it kept the house warm, and its occupants fed.

The Christmas spirit had caught up to Dean, somewhat. While he had made zero attempts to decorate the house, he had been eyeing a piece of merchandise at the store for a week and a half, before purchasing it tonight before he left. Hopefully, it would be a decent replacement for the old one Castiel still kept holding on to.

Walking up to the door of his—their?—home, Dean shook the snow from his shoulders and walked inside. He was met by the glow of soft light, instead of the actual lighting. Red-and-white striped candles, surrounded by scatterings of pine needles and ribbons, gave off tiny glows against the shelves in which they were perched. The air smelled like sugar cookies, out of the oven not longer than an hour.

He followed the glowing light to the living room, and was stunned at the sight. A large tree lay in the middle of the room; trimmed up to a point he almost thought it wasn't real. It was decorated with paper chains, long streams of strung-up popcorn crossing over the construction-paper chains. Thin strings of colored lights interwove with the streamers, casting gentle nets of multicolor over the room. The tree was also decorated with paper ornaments, handmade from the look of them.

"Hello, Dean."

The human spun, turning to watch the angel rise from the couch with a mug in hand. He'd found a Christmas sweater to wear, a Crayola red, that mottled to white, silver, then green at the hems. Castiel smiled, offering out the mug to him, the gentle smell of warm eggnog.

"Merry Christmas."

Dean was still having trouble processing what his living room had been transformed into. "Cas… What the hell is all this?"

The angel paused, fingers shifting on the warm ceramic. "It's Christmas, Dean." His wings fluttered, but began to slowly droop. "Well, Christmas eve, I suppose. The day before Christmas. Do you not like it? I thought you might like it—" He was starting to panic now, feathers shivering as he fretted about overstepping boundaries.

"Cas, Cas—" Dean grabbed his arm and squeezed. "_Castiel_." The angel stopped his panicked rambling, watching his human almost warily. "I never – I didn't – Where did all this come from?"

"I made it." Cas smiled to himself, with almost a hint of pride. His eyes were shifting around Dean, before staring resolutely at the tree. "Well, most of it. I could not make the lights, nor the candles or ribbons. But the woman at the store reassured me the best decorations were ones made by hand."

"But, why?"

Castiel met Dean's gaze meekly, giving the hint of a sheepish smile. "For you. The closer Christmas came, the more you seemed troubled; and you always mute Christmas commercials when we watch television…" He shifted the cup in his hands, his smile growing. "I wanted to give you a happier memory for Christmas. So, perhaps, you will not always feel such disdain over a more joyful holiday."

Cas had done all of this… to make him _happy_?

Slowly, Dean lowered his bag to the floor. His fingers gently unwound Castiel's hands from the mug, before setting it back on the table. Castiel watched him, not warily, but carefully. Dean slid the hand still resting on Castiel's shoulder to his neck, the other resting on his hip as he slowly pulled him closer. The angel's wings lifted and fluttered, shifting almost nervously before Dean closed the distance between them, lips meeting in a soft kiss. It was playful and sweet, holding innocence as they pulled apart, foreheads resting together within the cocoon of Castiel's silky black wings.

"Thank you, Cas." The human smiled, easy and happy like he hadn't been able to in a long time.


End file.
